of monsters and men
by the good old days
Summary: -—Sylar. "I just wanted to be special!" "Don't you want to be real?" "I need to know that I matter." "Do you ever want to know what it's like to love somebody so much you can barely breathe?"


of monsters and men.  
-—Sylar. "I just wanted to be special!" "Don't you want to be real?" "I need to know that I matter." "Do you ever want to know what it's like to love somebody so much you can barely breathe?"

**note: **no capitalization and run-on sentences because, to me, that equates to insane; i'm trying out a new style; spoilers for seasons one through three; i just finished the last season like literally five minutes ago and that cliff hanger and cries.

* * *

there is a gnawing in his chest and a blackness to his heart and he is _sylar_ god dammit not gabriel. gabriel was weak but he is strongstrongstrong so strong that he could be special so special if he wanted he could even be president you know.

"my name is sylar!" he yells and the man with the horn rimmed glasses doesn't flinch doesn't cower just looks down at him like he's an animal like he's nothing like he's not even worth anything at all.

gabriel cries. sylar just wants to understand. he wants the man's blood on his hands and his brain in his collection.

.

the hunger is overpowering.

you just have questions and don't brains have answers don't they isn't that what people say? you just needneedneed to know this is more than a desire more than a want this is a need this is a hunger.

"you have the hunger," you say and you're sad so sad why was peter petrelli always so damn stubborn? he starts to cut you open and you understand oh how much you understand the hunger. but noah little noah what if he comes in he can't come in he can't.

you wonder if this is how your victims feel: frenzied. confused. helpless.

the thing about the hunger is that it's overpowering. you stop caring that once people are understood they die and not all of them are not like claire not all of them come back. human beings are complex by nature and they're not supposed to be understood. why didn't you see that?

understanding comes with a price.

.

the nights and the days they blend together and it is so impossibly hard to tell what is real what is fake what is fantasy what is reality and am i even human anymore?

i didn't mean to hurt them honest they were just so broken just so lost didn't they deserve to be saved don't i deserve to be saved i mean aren't i gabriel like the angel can't i be special can't i be president can't i mohinder didn't you even miss me a little at all?

i really don't want him to scream just yet so i talk normally and prettily and i can tell it gets on mohinder's nerves and "this is maya" and i don't touch breakfast. i use my persuasion because even without my powers i have that. the hunger is gone but there is something else there something like the hunger. _special special special_, it whispers.

maya has made me miss him. their sun-kissed skin, dark hair, large eyes. i want them both.

but the hunger wants them more.

.

elle bishop is a pretty little thing.

gabriel likes the way she cares like he's the only person in the world for her like he really is special. sylar likes her masochism her sparks how she needs approval praise isn't she just like gabriel&sylar mixed together?

"make me real," he says. her skin is blazing burning bright. she is like fire so like fire that licks at him and yes he is real. but suddenly he is gabriel and sylar and brian and zane and every person he has ever killed. "real . . . real . . . _real_ . . .," he whispers like a prayer like a mantra like a promise like a curse as he kisses down her body as if she's a goddess. she is. or she pleasures and punishes like one.

she has seen him weak. sylar doesn't like that and she's a lot like gabriel already. sylar won't change can't change doesn't like change.

elle bishop is still pretty with her head cut open.

.

you hate isaac mendez.

you hate him. you hate his hair and his shoes and his paints. you hate his stupid gift and his peace with death and his paintings—they're everywhere dammit.

he is so calm. it's a bet nerve-wrecking actually. he's been waiting for this. would he have said "you're late" if he knew the exact time that you would come? he knew this was coming but he needed the heroin at first how stupid how odd how _pathetic_. he knew the future but isaac mendez has to paint it and aren't paintings open to interpretation isn't that what art is all about isn't it?

yes, you hate his gift.

isaac mendez never wanted his gift never wanted to paint the tragic future and there's a part of him that doesn't want it still deep deep down inside of his soul. he knows he's broken he knows it and he accepts it and this is why you hate him.

he knew this was coming, but he still screams like the rest of them and that's satisfying—even if nothing else about isaac mendez is.

.

i want to be a petrelli.

i want it so badly that i can feel it in my bones in my blood in my heart in my soul. nathan petrelli, district attorney who locks up the bad guys and junior senator from new york turned congressman—the picture perfect son of his father, the face that makes a difference. peter petrelli, the young hospice nurse bam epiphany paramedic and the hero and the glue that holds all the other heroes together, gives them faith and hope and vigor—the good one, the son that changes hearts and helps, in his own small way in a large, large world.

where do i fit in?

gabriel petrelli. i taste it on my tongue. it's not wrong but it doesn't fit the way gray does but with that name i could be somebody important wanted loved special. sylar petrelli. sylar is just a name that needs no other names last or otherwise. it needs no face no voice just a senseless murder and an endless ticking.

what could i add to the petrelli household? not court wins or bills passed or lives given or the world saved. no, i've nothing to give but death everywhere i go death all around me behind me like a trail of breadcrumbs and before me like a brightly lit path to a future inescapable.

i want to be a petrelli—but i'm no golden boy or hero just a killer always a killer and that is the only thing about me that is certain and constant at all.


End file.
